


The Dance was Made For You (You Must Dance)

by Miss_Paint



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, Supernatural - Freeform, dance academy - Freeform, minor jealousy, understudy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Paint/pseuds/Miss_Paint
Summary: “You must be the star. The dance is yours. You are the dance.”Sicheng sighed, and gently pried Ten’s arms away from him. “I am just the understudy, Ten,” Sicheng responded. “I am not valuable.”“Please do not talk about yourself that way.” Ten chided softly, with a hint of a smile. Sicheng smiled back.--All Sicheng wanted was to shine. And all Ten wanted was for Sicheng to dance.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41
Collections: Challenge #2 — tricks; treats; and terrors





	The Dance was Made For You (You Must Dance)

_ “The dance was made for you.” _

Sicheng was a second-year student at NCT Performance Arts Academy, majoring in dance. Sicheng took the initiative to join the performance arts academy as an outlet for his interests. The decision was met by an overwhelming sense of self-doubt, though Sicheng felt more at ease over time. Sicheng considered himself as reticent, laconic, and withdrawn, but through his passion for dance, Sicheng felt himself bloom into unfounded confidence. 

Sicheng always considered himself too much of a recluse, believing that he would soon appreciate the loneliness that often washed over him. He was proud to step out of his comfort zone, finding himself learning how to breathe after drowning in a sea of isolation.

Time passed into the semester, and Sicheng was slowly overloaded with assignments after assessments after projects for his general education classes. It was a struggle to keep up, especially since Sicheng never had any interest in his studies in the first place. 

As solace, Sicheng invested more of his time and energy into dance, using it as an outlet to de-stress. Days of laborious studying was concluded with energetic dance practices with the club.

On one evening, Sicheng arrived to witness a bustle of chatter and cheers in the studio. He was no stranger to noise in the room — the club members were particularly rambunctious, especially in the company of each other. Though Sicheng observed that the energy within the walls of the room was different. Excited. Nervous. Stimulated. Anxious.

“The Academy is hosting the Winter Workshop festival,” Jaehyun, an acquaintance, said to Sicheng, after Sicheng approached to ask. “Auditions to perform are being held soon. You will audition, right?”

Sicheng has heard of the esteemed festival before – it was one of the reasons why he decided to partake in performance extracurricular activities. The Winter Workshop, held annually, was aimed not only to provide students, no matter their background, an avenue for their creative interests, but also a medium for students to showcase their talents to prestigious performance arts figures. Those who auditioned stood a chance to be well-known, appreciated for their talents. 

But of course, only the best of the best received that chance.

And while Sicheng was new to the world of the arts, he was determined to get a shot. A chance to shine in the festival meant an exit from the dreary life of academics that he so loathed. An opportunity to be well-known for his performance skills was a ticket of credibility to show not only himself but his parents, and his friends, that he is a performer, and that he should be valued as one. 

Sicheng’s days were occupied with the studies while the sun was out, and dances while the moon was shining. Members of the dance club were bustling to improve themselves, get a foot in the door for the festival. 

Sicheng was never really a fan of the crowd. And so, he booked the practice studios, in times where he knew there would be less people. At three in the morning, one could hear the elegant music whispering through the halls of arts building. And if one walks closely enough, one could witness the flowing energy Sicheng portrayed in his dances. 

On one gloomy, but particularly serene night, Sicheng was practicing a dance. It was a dance that was choreographed in the mind of traditional Chinese dance, beautifully weaved with ballet. Sicheng felt comfortable with any forms of dance, but he knew his specialty was the ones that called for elegance and poise. 

As he was practicing, he felt the intuition that someone was watching. Sicheng tried not to let it bother him. The arts building, the studio rooms, they were all public, free to use. Sicheng knew that it was never guaranteed for him to receive ultimate privacy.

But the stare that he felt on him was different. Sicheng felt more nervous as time passed on, as steps were taken. He turned around to see a student, perhaps his age, or his senior, watching him from the door that was left ajar. 

Sicheng expected the person to turn away, apologize for intruding. To his slight surprise, the person took the initiative to enter the room, as if Sicheng’s acknowledgement of his presence was an invitation. 

As the man walked closer to Sicheng, Sicheng took the time to observe. The man was… well, Sicheng considered him beautiful. With strong feline features, and an aura exuding mischief and mayhem, Sicheng could not look away. He was entranced. 

“You dance beautifully,” the man said, to which Sicheng mumbled a soft _thank_ _you_. “Are you dancing for the Winter Workshop?”

Sicheng nodded. The man said, “I hope to see you there.”

“Who are you?” Sicheng could not help but ask. He has never seen this man before. Sicheng would have remembered if he did. 

“I’m Ten.”

“Ten…?”

“Just Ten.”

Ten gave Sicheng a smile, one that many would consider as precarious, dangerous, maybe. But Sicheng threw all his instincts out the door, for he felt a wash of calm flood inside him. Sicheng smiled back. 

Time was getting closer to the day of audition, and then finally the day was there. Everyone was restless – everyone wanted a role in the festival. Those who got in were to be trained with esteemed performance choreographers and mentors. It was a world full of glamor and excitement. 

Sicheng took a moment to observe his surroundings – his peers were bumbling with nerves, part confident that they would get a role, and part nervous that they would not. His friends took turns encouraging one another, reassuring each other that of course, they would get a role.

“You’ll get in,” Sicheng overheard. “We all will.”

Names were called one by one into the audition room. Some went out looking defeated. Others looked hopeful. Finally, Sicheng’s name was called. 

He gave a brief introduction of himself and let out a cue for the music to start.

Sicheng took a deep breath, and

and he danced.

He danced until he could not dance anymore. Sicheng expressed his gratitude, and then he left. 

Castings arrived, and everyone hustled to the bulletin board to see the results. Sicheng watched from a distance – he was not interested in putting himself in a crowd of volatile emotions. 

He did not know what to expect. Sicheng danced the best he could, so much so he felt a catharsis releasing with every step, every movement took. He could not gauge the reactions of the judging panel, but he quickly found out that their reactions remained impassive for everyone. 

Sicheng had hope. Hope that he would get a role for the festival. An entrance into the world he so longed to be in. 

Once the crowd started dissipating into groups of the discouraged and groups of the excited, Sicheng walked forward. Forward to the bulletin board, where his results lie. He ignored the chatters and the exclamations from his peers nearby; he only had one focus. Finally, he landed his eyes on the casting sheet. He took a moment to scan the paper, and found that…

He got in.

Sicheng got a role. 

But not a role he wanted. 

Underneath Taeyong’s name typed in bold, was Sicheng’s name italicized, with the word ‘ _understudy_ ’ preceding it. 

Sicheng entered a state of inner quiet. Almost akin to the calm before calamity. He was processing, though he was not processing much. The word _understudy_ screamed at him, as if it were taunting him. _You will never be good enough_.

“Sicheng!” Sicheng’s trance was broken, and Sicheng took a moment to realize it was Taeyong. Taeyong was giving a bright smile, though Sicheng could perceive a sense of pity in his eyes. He hated it. “Congratulations. You’re in.”

_ As an understudy. For you _ . “Yes,” Sicheng said.

“Well, practice is soon. We’ll be mentored by Professor Hyoyeon, can you imagine? I’ll see you soon, alright?”

Sicheng nodded, watching Taeyong bounce away with an air of lightness and ease. He felt something growing in his stomach, but he was not sure – or rather, he was not ready, to acknowledge it.

The dance routine was beautiful. It was elegant, fluid, almost as if it were the personification of a water flowing in a river. How Sicheng longed to be performing the dance instead. The dance screamed to him, emanating the ambience that it was _his_ , it was part of his identity, and Sicheng _must_ dance it. 

But that was not the way of the world, it seemed. Everyone seemed to fawn over Taeyong, claiming that the dance was created for him. Sicheng held no ill feeling towards Taeyong – he was nice, gentle, _talented_. Still, Sicheng could not shake of the dreary feeling of envy growing inside of him. The dance was not created for Taeyong. Sicheng knew, he knew, because it called for him. 

Sicheng liked to book extra time in the practice rooms to rehearse the choreography. He knew that he would not be dancing the routine for the festival – Taeyong was well, and healthy, and there was no doubt that festival directors would prioritize Taeyong over Sicheng. Sicheng valued the time alone for him to reflect and intimately get in touch the dance. There was no other way.

Seconds among minutes of the clock ticked by, and Sicheng felt himself completely drowned in the beauty of the choreography. It was like he felt all along, 

“The dance was made for you.”

For a moment, Sicheng thought it was his own mind speaking loudly. Until he realized that he was not alone. He turned to the door, and there was Ten, in his luminous disposition. Sicheng had to admit, he had forgotten about Ten. He never saw him ever since their first encounter, and none of his peers seemed to know a man named ‘Ten’. Sicheng began to think that Ten was nothing but a figment of his imagination.

But there he was, standing with poise, staring at Sicheng with an intense gaze. He walked closer to Sicheng, and temporarily, Sicheng forgot how to breathe.

Ten was… 

He was ethereal. 

And Sicheng could not blame himself for thinking that Ten was imaginary, for he just seemed so perfect. 

But there he was, standing with poise, staring at Sicheng with an intense gaze. Ten was real. He was with Ten, and it was real. 

“I heard you are the understudy.” Ten said. Sicheng felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. It was already humiliating for himself, but to a man, so gorgeous, so perfect like Ten… Sicheng did not respond.

“You should not be,” Ten continued. “You are more than an understudy.”

Sicheng gave a wry chuckle and looked down on the floor. “Not to them,” Sicheng said defeatedly. “I cannot compare to the all-mighty, all-rounder Lee Taeyong.”

Ten gave a noise of disapproval. “I wish you did not look down on yourself. You are a beautiful dancer.” Ten paused, lifting Sicheng’s downturned chin upwards. Sicheng realized how close they were. Normally, he would run. This time, he felt a force pull them together, as if the world meant for them to be together. “ _You_ are beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.” Sicheng breathed out. Ten gave Sicheng a small smile and held both of his hands. 

“Dance with me?”

And so Sicheng did.

They danced and danced, their bodies moving together, speaking a language of intricate beauty that only the two of them understood. Each step, each movement, each _moment_ was savored by Sicheng. He never felt this way before. He never felt so… alive.

Soon, the room was lit with the beginnings of the dusk. Sicheng had not realized how much time he spent with Ten, and it seemed like Ten did not either.

“I have never felt that way before,” Sicheng said in a hushed voice, as if he was telling a secret to Ten. “Dance is… I love dance, but I have never danced the way I danced with you.”

“You must be in the festival,” Ten said softly, his arms wrapped around Sicheng’s shoulders. “You _must_.”

Sicheng was slightly taken aback by how intense, how adamant Ten was. “I am.” 

Ten shook his head. “No,” Ten said. “You must be the _star_. The dance is yours. You are the dance.”

Sicheng sighed, and gently pried Ten’s arms away from him. “I am just the understudy, Ten,” Sicheng responded. “I am not valuable.”

“Please do not talk about yourself that way.” Ten chided softly, with a hint of a smile. Sicheng smiled back.

“When can I see you?” Sicheng asked, and he did not fail to notice the drop of Ten’s smile. 

“You are.” Ten said impassively, a stark difference from the warm radiance Sicheng was accustomed to this whole time. 

“I meant, again,” Sicheng clarified. “I want to see you again.”

Silence fell upon them, and Sicheng began to worry that he said the wrong thing, assumed the wrong thing. He knew they just met, but he has never felt so _connected_ to someone as he did Ten. He opened his mouth to speak up, to take back his words, to apologize, but Ten cut him off. 

“You will be in the dance,” Ten said. “For me.”

Sicheng sighed softly. “I already told you –” 

“I have to go,” Ten interrupted. “I will see you at the festival. You will dance.”

Before Sicheng could say anything, he felt a flutter of softness land on his lips. It took him a moment to realize that Ten gave him a kiss. But before he could react, or say anything, Ten was gone. 

Sicheng came into practice not expecting the frantic frenzy diffusing in the room. Professor Hyoyeon spotted him from a distance, and immediately rushed to him with a strong sense of urgency. Before Sicheng could mutter out a greeting, or ask what was wrong, she told him promptly that he will be dancing, and that he needed to prepare. 

There was no time for him to respond, no time for him to digest this news. Perform? _Dance_? He wanted to ask, but everyone was so focused on making sure Sicheng was on track on the performance. After all, the performance was a week away. 

At the end of practice, Sicheng felt relieved to see that Professor Hyoyeon seemed to enjoy Sicheng’s performance – he might even say that she was looking forward to it. Before she could exit the room, joining the dispersal of the studio, Sicheng walked over to her and asked what happened.

“Haven’t you heard?” She asked. “Taeyong suffered an accident. Both of his legs are broken.”

The day of the festival arrived. Out of curiosity and concern, Sicheng visited Taeyong in the hospital. Taeyong suffered a particularly nasty car crash, after failing to realize the traffic signs. Taeyong shared how peculiar it was, insisting that the traffic signs were different, that it _changed_. Sicheng could not place the implication behind Taeyong’s words, but it was as if Taeyong was saying, _someone did this_. 

Sicheng felt sympathy for Taeyong, he would not want to suffer the same fate as he did.

But Sicheng had to be honest. He was thrilled. 

No, not thrilled at Taeyong’s injury. But thrilled that it allowed him the opportunity to dance for the Winter Workshop. Now, it will be Sicheng’s names on the flyers, on the programs, on people’s minds. He will shine. And he will shine through a dance that he felt was made for him.

Sicheng stood by the stage entrance and felt an overwhelming sense of nerves prickling inside of him, and suddenly he felt inferior, as if he could not perform. Maybe he was not good enough. Maybe he would be deemed as a joke, as a shame, that out of all people, _Sicheng_ was the one to perform.

His nervousness reached a peak, to which he almost acted out, until he noticed something in the audience. His heart skipped a beat. It was Ten, standing by the seats of the auditorium in the nearer rows, watching him. Sicheng knew that there was a quite a distance between the two of them, but he could not help but feel the pull, as if the world was pushing them together. 

The previous act concluded, and it was Sicheng’s time. He stood behind curtains, ready to move. The curtains slowly opened, welcoming a chorus of applause from the audience. Sicheng took a deep breath, and

and he danced.

He danced until he could not dance anymore. 

  
At the end of the performance, he was met by a standing ovation from the crowd. He thought that it would be the source of his happiness. But instead, Sicheng was only focused on one person in the audience. 

Ten gave him a big smile. 

Professor Hyoyeon greeted him backstage, congratulating him for the beautiful performance. Sicheng thanked her as well, expressing his love and admiration for the choreography. 

“Thank you,” she said. “But I am afraid I cannot take all the credit for the choreography.”

When Sicheng asked for clarification, she spoke again. “This choreography was created by a student of mine five years ago. He was supposed to perform this choreography but… well, he passed. A horrible accident. He was a wonderful student, a great person. I know he would want this choreography to be used.”

Sicheng smiled, touched at his professor’s story. “What is his name?”

“He had plenty, honestly. But he had a nickname,” she paused. “We called him Ten.”

“ _The dance was made for you._ _And so, you_ must _dance.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Watch Center Stage (2000) :)


End file.
